


deathless

by andnowforyaya



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, First Time, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Mythology References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-11-22 16:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20877350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: There was one who was not like the others. He stood before the golden tapestry of the Phoenix, alone. The hanfu that hung from his shoulders and clung to his narrow waist was a delicate shade of earthy green, the color of new shoots just breaking soil. He twisted his hair, which had been braided into a loose rope, in his fingers. Even from this distance, Sicheng could tell his eyes were flecked with gold.The war was over. In the celebration that followed, Sicheng met Ten.





	deathless

**Author's Note:**

> #
> 
> Commissioned this [fanart](https://twitter.com/n_ikuman/status/1246154488240640000?s=19) and it is amazing. Thank you.

The war was over. 

That was what Sicheng kept reminding himself as he watched the festivities playing out in front of him with the sense that he was floating above it all. Gods and goddesses gorged themselves on roasted meats and ambrosia the way that only deities could -- with great pleasure, volume, and indulgence -- seated at long tables in the Great Hall in the Palace of the Sun and Moon, their booming voices echoing like thunderclaps across the sky. 

Sicheng eyed his plate of roasted boar, his cup of rice wine. He was not hungry. He could not understand how, in the space of a few hours, a truce could be reached and tensions could fade from a centuries-long war that had ripped the world asunder a dozen times over and put it back together differently each time. 

And he was bored. Jaemin, whom he could usually count on to accompany him to things like this, had disappeared early on in the revelry. 

Sicheng pulled at the long, billowing sleeves of his  _ hanfu _ . After the covenant between the Old Ones and the new Gods had been made, he had stepped into the shadows and back into his realm to change out of his armor, which, though scorched by fire and coated in grime and caked in blood, had been unpierced and still whole. He stood out like an inkstain on parchment in his silk  _ hanfu, _ dyed the color of rubies at night. The collars were white, and pale green Jade stones dotted his earlobes. He had swept his hair up into a severe, tight knot, not a strand out of place. Many of the revelers still wore their golden armor, their long hair loose and wild.

"Why are you looking so glum? This is a celebration!" Yangyang appeared at Sicheng's side, fleet-footed and blurred at the edges. He was always moving, it seemed. The smile on his face was all teeth. His armor was lighter than most -- thin, to suit his need to skip across realms at a moment’s notice. There was a smear of silvery ichor, leftover from the final battle, across his cheek. 

"I'm celebrating," Sicheng muttered, holding up his cup of rice wine. He preferred it over ambrosia, which made him light-headed and more easily influenced. He liked being steady on his own two feet.

"You're hardly doing that," Yangyang protested. He frowned and plopped down onto the bench beside him. Across the table, a god was trying to put his hand up a nymph's robes. "Smile, at least."

Sicheng turned and flashed him a smile, and Yangyang put his hands up like he'd just been blinded by the sun. "Mercy!” Yangyang cried. “Ugh, put that away!"

"You're not funny," Sicheng said.

"On the contrary. I think you'll agree that I am."

Sicheng sighed, swirling the wine in his cup lazily. "We've been at this for hundreds of years, Yangyang. Do you really think the war is over, just like that?"

"I do." Yangyang helped himself to the roasted boar on Sicheng's plate, throwing a morsel into his mouth and chewing loudly. "I watched Minho sign the treaty. It's done. The Old Ones will go back to their dwellings before the last pig has been spitted, back to their caves and under-sea rivers and wind tunnels. It's the dawn of a New Age. For us as kings and queens."

"For us over all," Sicheng agreed. "And how are we any better than the Old Ones?"

Yangyang helped himself to Sicheng's wine as well. "Is that what you care about? The little humans running around on Earth?" he asked. "How quaint."

"I don't know. I'm expecting to wake up the next day to find that time has circled back, and that we'll be fighting the same war again for another century. Dejun can do that, you know. Nasty trick of his. If it's really over, then we have to -- something has to change. I can't take another hundred years of  _ this _ ." He swept his hands over the party, and Yangyang's eyes followed the movement, though Sicheng could see that he did not understand. 

"It's over," Yangyang said, firm in his belief. He clapped his hand on Sicheng's shoulder and stood, clearly announcing his intent to leave this conversation, or at least to leave Sicheng. Sicheng didn't care. "We won."

.

Sicheng noticed him right around the time the celebration turned, as most celebrations do, into an orgy. The long, low tables had been pushed to the sides of the Great Hall, under the flowing tapestries that hung from the ceilings and between the jade pillars. On these tapestries, weavers had depicted in brilliant threads saturated in rich color the four beasts who ruled over all others: the Dragon, the Phoenix, the Unicorn, and the Tortoise. And under these images, the gods and demi-gods and spirits debased each other.

There was one who was not like the others. He stood before the golden tapestry of the Phoenix, alone. The  _ hanfu  _ that hung from his shoulders and clung to his narrow waist was a delicate shade of earthy green, the color of new shoots just breaking soil. He twisted his hair, which had been braided into a loose rope, in his fingers. Even from this distance, Sicheng could tell his eyes were flecked with gold. 

Sicheng watched him as he watched the revelries. The faintest of pink blushes colored his cheeks, and he stopped twirling his braid in his hands to hold one hand over his mouth as though covering a silent scream. Sicheng followed his gaze and his eyes landed upon Xuxi, the great god of the waters and rivers, fucking a fox spirit like they were dogs. The fox spirit threw his head back and keened and the man before the Phoenix looked away with an abrupt movement, the color on his cheeks deepening. Sicheng laughed under his breath.

He had never seen him before, and wondered who he was. Another fox spirit, perhaps? A river nymph, or a household deity? No, that couldn't be. His eyes were the eyes of a god.

Sicheng rose to his feet. He stepped forward and caught the edge of a shadow with his hand and it formed around him like fabric. When he pulled, the world crumpled before him the way silk crumpled inside a fist, and when he released, he was across the hall before the Phoenix tapestry, in the shadow cast by the nameless god.

"Hello," Sicheng said.

The stranger jumped back from Sicheng in a graceful movement. The wide and billowing sleeves of his  _ hanfu  _ flitted around him, and his eyes flashed emerald green. When he saw Sicheng, he straightened and cleared his throat. Petals from the tiny flowers that had been woven into his braid fluttered to the ground.

"Hello," he said with uncertainty. His voice was higher than Sicheng expected, and as sweet as summer peaches. He looked at Sicheng with suspicion clear in his eyes. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You were against the other wall just a moment ago," he said, curiosity overtaking the apprehension. His body swayed closer to Sicheng's. A little thrill shot up Sicheng’s spine at the thought of the other noticing him from across the room.

"Ah, that," Sicheng said, snapping his fingers and grinning. "I have a way with shadows."

Recognition flitted across his features. He bit back a gasp. "Shadows? You're--"

"Sicheng," Sicheng interrupted. "Call me Sicheng."

The other man nodded. He was nearly a head shorter than Sicheng, and when he tilted his head up to make eye contact, Sicheng admired the sharp, straight line of his nose and the shape of his jaw. "I'm Ten," he said.

Sicheng repeated the name. It was unfamiliar on his tongue. "Is that your given name?"

"It's what my father calls me."

"And who is your father?"

Ten grinned, and Sicheng wondered if perhaps he was a fox spirit after all. The shape of his lips formed reminded him of a clever trick. "I'm not sure I should tell you," he said. There was a flower behind his ear that Sicheng hadn't seen before. The green stem curled behind the shell, and the pink bloom rested over the top of his ear, near his temple. "I'm not really supposed to be here."

Sicheng lifted his eyebrows in inquiry. 

Ten continued, "My father doesn't know I'm here. If I tell you who he is, you might tell him where I am."

"I won't," Sicheng said.

"You might," Ten said easily. "He can be very persuasive."

"I’ve given you my name and you’ve given me nothing. Tell me this at least: Are you one of us?" As Sicheng took a step closer to the other, he pulled the shadows around them like a cloak, shielding them temporarily from any inquisitive eyes. Within the darkness that settled over their shoulders, Ten's eyes glowed.

"One of you?" he murmured. The shadows pulsed at their backs at Sicheng's whim, pushing them toward each other, until they were nearly pressed chest to chest. "Unfortunately."

"Then why don't I know you?" Sicheng asked quietly. He let his gaze wander down Ten's front. He was beautiful the way a finely forged dagger was, all sharp lines but a full, balanced body. His skin had been kissed and bronzed by the sun, and Sicheng's fingers itched to trace along his brow bone, his cheek. "Ten," he uttered. The name held no power, but it made something unfamiliar and new shiver inside of Sicheng. 

Ten looked up at him with the clear eyes of a fawn. They were the eyes of someone who had never seen war, perhaps not even bloodshed. His skin held the luminescence of the first dew of the morning and, under Sicheng's shadow, he was still almost unbearably bright. "Do you want to know me?" Ten asked just as quietly back. 

"Yes," Sicheng said definitively. He didn't just want to know him, he  _ needed  _ to know Ten. 

It was hard -- almost impossible -- to kill a god, and so the war had dragged on and on as gods maimed each other and then healed, killed each other and then reincarnated. For centuries, Sicheng had seen all the same faces surfacing and resurfacing in his realm of shadows and the dead, heard all the same pleas and bargaining to return to the land of the living. He had held reign over the afterlife, judiciously neutral as the war raged on, and done what he could to bring peace to those soldiers and civilians who deserved it, and to throw all the others into the realm of the damned. After a while, he grew bored. 

When he joined the war, he brought legions of the undead with him. The tide turned. Still, it took another century for Minho to negotiate a cease-fire, and then a covenant. Now that the war was over, Sicheng would be returning to his realm, back to the pleas and bargaining as the dead piled up in front of him and realized just what was in store for them for the rest of eternity. It made Sicheng want to throw his head against a wall.

Ten stood before him, neither pleading nor bargaining, his existence as mysterious as the grin that still graced his lips. He said, "If I am away for too long, my father will notice. I must go."

The shadows pulsed at their backs. Ten gasped as he was pushed right up against Sicheng's chest, needing to catch himself by his hands on Sicheng's shoulders. Sicheng reached up, taking both of his slim wrists into either hand. "Stay. I'm not afraid of your father.”

Ten's grin softened until it fell away. He gently took his wrists back from Sicheng's grip and said, "Then you're a fool."

"I'm the ruler of the underworld," Sicheng said.

Ten raised an eyebrow. "Does that exempt you from being a fool? Clearly not."

Sicheng laughed without calculation, and this surprised him. Ten's smile returned shyly like a sunflower slowly turning its face toward the sun. "Then I'm a fool," Sicheng concluded. He settled his hand on Ten's waist, thrilled to find the shape of it under his palm just as he imagined -- narrow and trim, but soft where the tops of his thighs began to swell. "Will you tell me your given name, now?"

Ten plucked his hand off his waist. "My name, like this--" he looked down pointedly at his own body "--you have to earn."

"How?" Sicheng asked, chiding himself immediately for sounding so eager.

Ten pursed his lips in thought. "Meet me tonight at the Reflection Pool when the moon is at its brightest. We'll be alone, then."

"Alone?" Sicheng smirked.

"And I'll tell you my name," Ten promised. "And  _ only  _ that."

The shadows pulsed again, but this time without Sicheng's persuasion. Someone was watching them, noticing them. He gripped at the darkness tighter, but Ten's eyes widened as he, too, felt a gaze upon their backs. "Sicheng--" he breathed out sweetly, stepping away from him. He fell out of the shadow's hold and back into the light. Sicheng's spell broke apart, fizzled into nothing, and he felt launched back into the present, where the party had dissolved into further depravity. 

A hand fell onto his shoulder. Sicheng whipped his head around, hand darting to his waist for the dagger he kept there, but it was only Yangyang, who flashed a knowing smile at him. "Enjoying yourself?" Yangyang asked.

Sicheng glowered. He turned back to tell Ten he would be there tonight, by the Pool, but Ten was gone. He looked around, bewildered. How had Ten gotten away so quickly? 

"He left you something," Yangyang said, bringing Sicheng's attention back to him. 

"What?"

"This." Yangyang's palms were held together, and now he unfolded them like a bird's wings. In the center where his palms met there was a single peony blossom, pink as the blush on Ten's cheeks. 

"You know him," Sicheng said, plucking the flower out of his hands. Yangyang's face brightened as he watched Sicheng tuck the peony blossom into the collar of his  _ hanfu _ , right over his breast. 

"Not much more than most," Yangyang said slyly. When he grinned, he tucked his tongue between his teeth as though biting back words.

"Which is not at all," Sicheng grunted. "Tell me about Ten."

"What do you want to know about him?"

"Everything." He wanted to know how splendid Ten would look in blue, and pink, and red. He wanted to know what the tiny flowers were called that dotted Ten's hair. He wanted to know how he smelled so sweet in a room full of gods in their ruts, and he wanted to know why he'd come at all. He recalled how Ten had looked away, cheeks rosy, when the fox spirit howled, and wondered if Ten had ever had a god between his legs before. Sicheng's mouth watered as heat stirred in his belly. 

"I can only tell you a few things," Yangyang said, "and they probably won't interest you."

Sicheng demanded, "Tell me anyway." The shadows around them both flickered, and Yangyang eyed the movement warily, the grin on his lips faltering. 

"He lives on the Koh Yao islands with his father," Yangyang said. "I meet him sometimes, on the beach. The waters there are as clear and blue as the sky, and the sand is white, like diamonds. I can never stay for long. You see, the islands are his, and no one else's. And his father has taken this to mean that everything on the islands is under his rule and control."

"Even his son?" Sicheng probed.

Yangyang hummed and tilted his head, neither affirming or denying the question, and Sicheng thought on the stories of the gods. Ones about Xuxi splitting the seas in half in anger over the betrayal of a lover. Ones about Minho scorching the earth so that nothing could grow in the dry, cracked soil for decades, when a man who was a king questioned Minho’s divinity. He wracked his brain for stories about gods who reigned over islands in the sea, but there were so many that he couldn't possibly begin to guess who Ten's father was based on the limited information Yangyang was sharing with him. 

But then there was the peony blossom.

Sicheng cupped a hand gently over his breast, feeling the give of the petals underneath his palm and the silk layers of his dress. A name came to him like a dream in the middle of the night.

"His father is Taemin, God of the Harvest."

Yangyang's eyes flicked to him, flashing silver. "That's right."

"Then Ten is--" 

Before Sicheng could blink, Yangyang has thrown his hand over Sicheng's mouth, stunning Sicheng to silence. "You know names have power," Yangyang hissed. "Keep his name out of your mouth if you know what's best." His eyes were the color of the ocean in a storm, dull steel. Sicheng furrowed his brows but nodded, and Yangyang released him from his hold. The messenger god stepped back with a low exhale and straightened his armor. "You should get back to the celebration."

"No, I think I'm done here," Sicheng said. All that was happening around him paled in comparison to the golden glow of Ten's skin.

Yangyang narrowed his eyes again. "Don't go to the island," he said. "Not yet. If his father sees you..."

Sicheng gathered the shadows around him like they were strands of a sticky web and stepped into the sliver of his realm he had created for himself. "I won't go yet," he promised, before disappearing into the space between worlds.

.

He waited forever for night to fall. The moon crawled too slowly across the sky, inching along the crown of the earth like a heavy boulder being pushed uphill. He’d let his hair down so that it fell around his shoulders, half of it tied back loosely in a green ribbon that matched the green of Ten’s  _ hanfu  _ from before, and tucked the peony blossom back into the folds of black silk over his breast. Sicheng arrived at the Reflection Pool before the time came for Ten to meet him. He wanted to be there when the other god arrived, poised and still as a shadow.

The water in the Reflection Pool was like a well of ink, and smooth as glass. He wondered if it would shatter like a mirror if he skimmed a pebble along the surface. Dark green lily pads as expansive as the backs of giant stingrays floated on the black water, and above the pink lilies rose huge lotus stalks, the lotus blossoms at the ends of them hovering above the water like glowing orbs. Sicheng knew that underneath, all sorts of creatures dwelled. Fish, and snakes, and sharks. Nymphs, and spirits, and mermaids. The bottom of the Pool did not exist; it opened up on the other side into all the oceans and rivers and lakes and puddles that wet the Earth.

A breeze rippled across the Pool, barely ruffling the glass surface, but it caught the edges of Sicheng's  _ hanfu  _ and pulled so that the silk tightened around his body.

He was surprised that there were no other gods around at this time in the night, with the moon hanging fat and pouring light into the clouds, but perhaps Ten knew something he didn't, which was rare.

"You came." Ten's voice echoed over the water, buoyant and light, amused. Sicheng could not see him anywhere. "And you're early," he tittered. 

"You’re early, too," Sicheng returned, turning his head subtly to try to find the other god. There, at the edge of the Pool opposite Sicheng and emerging from the waters stood Ten, dripping in green again, his hair unbound. Sicheng found himself smiling. They were here in the dark, with shadows all around them. When Sicheng took one step, the world rippled and bent to his whim, and when he took another, he was by Ten's side. "Were you so excited to see me?" he whispered into his ear.

Ten jumped and scowled at Sicheng, a wrinkle forming in the bridge of his nose. He didn't move away. "Don't do that -- at least not without warning. Have you been followed?"

"Of course not." Sicheng pressed in closer until he could feel the heat emanating off of Ten's skin. When he inhaled, he could smell the sweet fragrance of lotus and musky earth; it seeped like oil from Ten's pores. "You don't like it when I crush the shadows between my hands?"

"I don't," Ten said simply, pouting like a child.

Sicheng straightened. "Then I'll stop doing it around you."

Ten stared at him. The gold in his eyes glowed like tiny embers flickering in dying coals. A flower bloomed behind his ear, red as blood. "What do you want with me, God of Death?"

The air chilled around Sicheng. He felt as though he'd been dropped into a column of ice. He hated that name, and he hated that Ten had let it fall from his mouth. "Don't call me that," he said lowly, his voice just a rumble emerging from his chest.

"Why not?" Ten looked up at him in challenge.

"Isn't it enough just for you to know that I don't like it?"

A moment passed where Sicheng felt Ten's gaze roll over him slowly, taking him in, considering him. Finally, the other man huffed and crossed his arms. "Well, I didn't know that before." The bloom behind his ear darkened in shade until it was a deep, vibrant purple. "And now I do, Sicheng."

Hearing his given name in Ten’s sweet honeyed voice made it feel like his heartstrings had been pulled taut and were being played like a lyre. Sicheng lifted a hand slowly and tentatively brushed Ten’s hair back, hooking it behind his ear with his fingers, revealing his lobe that was dotted with jade studs and golden hoops all the way up the curved outer shell. He traced the jewels with his longest finger until he had trailed the whirled pad of his finger behind Ten’s ear, down the side of his neck. Ten stayed as still as a cornered rabbit before a fox, but he didn’t tremble. He watched Sicheng with glowing eyes.

Sicheng said, smirking, “You’re not afraid of me.”

“Do you want me to be?”

“No,” Sicheng said quickly. “It’s refreshing. Don’t you know the things I’ve done?”

“In the name of war, the gods have done a great many things.”

“And what have you done, Ten?” Sicheng pushed. The shadows pulsed at his fingers, gripped at the edges of his clothes. His palm remained curled around the side of Ten’s neck.

Ten’s eyes flashed. “Stayed out of it, mostly.”

“You didn’t feel a call to duty? You don’t seek glory?”

“Because there’s so much glory in bloodshed.” Ten rolled his eyes. “The War didn’t change anything for me while it was going on, and it won’t change anything either now that it’s ended. I’m not interested in glory.”

“Then what are you interested in?” A shadow twisted around Sicheng’s finger at Ten’s neck, hypnotizing, beating at the same slow pace as the other god’s pulse.

Ten swallowed. “A way out.”

A cloud slipped in front of the moon and threw them into greater darkness. It rolled over Sicheng's shoulders like a heavy cloak as he imagined himself on the Koh Yao islands that were under Ten's father's rule. Yangyang's words of warning echoed in his mind.  _ If his father sees you...  _ What? What would Taemin do to Sicheng, who ruled over Death and Shadows? Or maybe the question was: What would Taemin do to Ten, his son?

He wondered if the crystal waters and the white sand were still beautiful if you had to wake up every morning knowing this was all you'd see for the rest of your immortal life, barring a few stolen moments, like this one. "You want to escape your father."

Ten cocked his head to the side, a slightly suspicious grin forming on his lips. "Yangyang told you."

"I asked him to. And he's not in a place to deny me."

Ten snorted once, and the slant to his pink mouth became sardonic. "Of course. He's just a messenger god, after all. They're not known to have tight lips." He sighed. "If you know my father, then you know me."

"I don't, though," Sicheng protested. "I don't know you at all. I might know your name, your given name, as well. But we are all of us so much more than our names, and the stories that surround them."

Ten's pulse fluttered under Sicheng's palm. His eyes flicked up to Sicheng's, and Sicheng found he couldn't look away. His golden-flecked stare was mesmerizing and seemed to be the only source of light in this now moon-less night. "What stories surround me?" Ten asked in a husky whisper.

Sicheng thought back to the banquets and war room meetings where Taemin was present. He quarreled regularly with Minho and Yixing, and he argued in a succinct, cold tongue. Once his point was accepted he settled back from the table again, aloof. The people who lived on his islands were devoted followers of his deity, and left him offerings regularly. As long as that was not threatened, Taemin didn't care what decisions were made at the war council table, and he didn't care what devastations he had to carry out to keep the war away from his home. The charms he had woven over his islands acted like a shield against all things. Once, out of curiosity, Sicheng had tried to follow a shadow to the edge of the white sands. He thought he could do it, emerge on Koh Yao under the foliage of the trees lining one of the beaches, but the shadow collapsed in his hands. It spat him back out, disoriented and confused. He hadn't tried again, content to focus on war efforts.

He wondered if how Taemin behaved in the war room was how Taemin behaved with Ten. The only subject that could make Taemin snap with emotion was when conversation turned to his son. Sicheng remembered the whispers that followed one particular exchange.

_ What will Chittaphon contribute to our cause? _ Minho had asked, in front of all the other gods and goddesses seated at the table. The name had not been mentioned in any other proceedings.

Taemin's knuckles had turned white as he gripped at the armrests of his chair.  _ Nothing. He's a child. He doesn't understand war, and I won't subject him to it.  _

_ You can't keep him there forever. _

_ I can, _ Taemin had said.  _ You promised me. _

Minho had let the words stagnate in the air, clouds forming in his eyes. A distance away, above some continent on earth, thunder rumbled. Taemin did not budge, and finally Minho turned to Yoona to a few seats down to his left and asked,  _ What do your oracles portend? _

When the council adjourned, the whispers swept up in the room like a swarm of gnats.  _ Perhaps the little god is weak _ , said one.  _ Of muscle, or of mind.  _

_ Perhaps he's wild. _

_ Perhaps,  _ said another, chuckling,  _ he's a flower waiting to be plucked. _

Taemin had enchanted his islands so that he could leave, but none could enter, and his son fascinated the gods like forbidden fruit for a long time after. He must be very beautiful, to be hidden away for so long. He must taste very sweet. He must be very soft, and supple, like a ripe peach. 

Sicheng thought the whispers had no place in war, but he listened to them sometimes, and imagined. Now, he had Ten before him, and he was indeed beautiful, and his lips were such a shade of pink that they had to be sweet. Sicheng's mouth watered.

"That your beauty is unrivaled," Sicheng whispered, cupping his hand around the back of Ten's neck to pull him in closer. He sucked in a breath when their chests touched, when he felt the peony blossom at his breast give against the pressure. He relished how it felt to have Ten against him. The other god's body was so slight compared to his own, and Sicheng was as honed as a knife. Ten had to lift his chin to look at him properly. "That you've never left the island, and this has made you innocent and sweet and docile." He grinned as he placed his thumb against the plush swell of Ten's bottom lip. "That you're a virgin."

He cupped Ten's face in his hand as Ten, entranced by the way Sicheng's thumb played with his mouth, exhaled breathily, his eyelids fluttering. The clouds moved away from the moon and in the silver light that glowed around them, he could see how Ten's cheeks were rosy with want. He longed to see his skin flushed all over, dewy with sweat. He wanted to know what Ten sounded like when he cried out in pleasure. "Is it true?" Sicheng asked, voice husky with desire.

"Is what true?" Ten asked. "That I'm beautiful? Well, aren't I?"

"That you're a virgin," Sicheng said bluntly, smirking. He felt how Ten twitched against him. "Has anyone ever touched you like this?"

Ten placed his hands on Sicheng's chest and turned into Sicheng's palm, kissing him there. "Like what? You're only touching my cheek." He grinned, tongue between his teeth.

Sicheng chuckled lowly and put his hand over Ten's waist. He was so small there, narrow and trim, that Sicheng's hand curved almost halfway around his body. He dug his fingers in through the silk layers of his clothes and caught Ten with his other hand behind the small of his back when Ten's knees buckled and his mouth fell open on a shy moan. "Like this, and more," Sicheng whispered, holding Ten against him now. The peony was crushed between them, but Sicheng didn't care. He hoped to find the petals bleeding and staining the inner folds of his  _ hanfu _ , later. 

"No." Ten whimpered, his forehead pressed to Sicheng's shoulder. His hands crept up the expanse of Sicheng's back and he held onto him like he was falling from a great height. "No one," he said. "You're the first."

"I want to devour you," Sicheng said. His hands roamed lower, to the soft curves of Ten's ass. When he kneaded the muscle there, Ten pushed forward against him, and Sicheng could feel the hard outline of him under his clothes. "Does  _ that _ scare you?"

"No," Ten said again. "Ah, Sicheng…"

"Good." 

Sicheng caught his lips in a rough kiss. He wrapped one arm behind Ten's shoulders to keep him as tightly pressed against his body as he could, and he kissed him until Ten's lips parted for him to plunge his tongue inside. Ten tasted just as sweet as he imagined, like honeysuckle, and he moaned breathlessly and without shame. The sounds echoed off the water of the Reflection Pool, stirring Sicheng on.

Ten tried to meet each of Sicheng's kisses with the same fervor, but it was new to him. He didn't understand how to breathe properly when Sicheng's mouth was against his, and he didn't know what to do with his hands other than to clutch at the other's body. Sicheng swept his hands over Ten's sides, down his back. He found a spot that made Ten tremble.

"Stop," Ten said, panting. "Stop, wait."

Sicheng pulled back, lips wet and red, and brushed his thumb again over Ten's right nipple. It had stiffened under Sicheng's touch, and Ten shook when Sicheng did it again. "Wait?" Sicheng asked, refraining from touching Ten there further though his fingers itched to play with him, to see what other sounds he could tease from Ten's throat. He settled his hands around Ten's waist.

Ten was already wearing their passion like a thin layer of gauze over his skin. He glowed, golden and pink, his eyes bright with fire. He swayed against Sicheng and hugged him close, tucking his forehead against Sicheng's chest. "Yes," Ten groaned, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, little god," Sicheng murmured. He carded his fingers through the curtain of Ten's hair and grinned at the tiny flowers that fell in the wake. He wondered if Ten even knew they’d been there, forming in his hair like a crown. The bloom behind Ten's ear had turned white. 

"I'm sorry you must wait for a while longer," Ten said against his chest. He looked up at Sicheng with wet eyes. "I have to go."

"Go? Now?" It wasn't anger he felt, but loss. There was so much more he wanted to know about Ten, his mind and body both, and there was never any time. He wondered if he could talk to Dejun about that. The fox spirit had cemented his place with the divine over a century ago, and could influence pockets of time backwards and forwards with a swish of one of his nine tails.

"My father will--"

"Find you? I already told you, I'm not afraid of him."

"But  _ I  _ am," Ten said, and that stilled the breath in Sicheng's lungs.

He could see the fear in Ten's eyes when he spoke of his father, of Taemin. He hadn’t truly worried about Ten’s safety before this moment; after all, it was difficult to harm a god, but Sicheng realized that Taemin, cold and detached, immovable as marble, might be able to think of unique, creative tortures. Anger at the thought of Ten experiencing any sort of pain simmered in his veins. "How are you here, now?" Sicheng asked. "How do you know how long you have before he looks for you?"

"Yangyang has left little slivers in the universe for me, tiny pathways to my favorite places from the island. But I can never stay for long. My father senses when I am gone, sometimes immediately. It's easier if I leave when I know he's asleep. I pretend that I've gone exploring and found another cave that's formed behind another waterfall. But the lie is wearing thin. We both know our islands inside out after half a millenia. There are only so many caves. So many waterfalls."

"He doesn't know about the pathways?"

"He can't." Ten shuddered to think about it. "Sicheng, I'm sorry. I can't stay for any longer."

He was already pulling away, and Sicheng resisted the urge to hold on even tighter. Ten slipped through his fingers, his absence like a hole in Sicheng's chest.

He asked, "Will you come to the Reflection Pool again? Will you meet me again?"

"I want to," Ten said. "I will."

"When?"

Ten paused, and Sicheng burned with the wait. "In four nights. It will be safer then."

"I don't know if I'll last that long," Sicheng told him. He grinned when Ten fluttered forward, the sleeves of his  _ hanfu _ billowing out behind him, and kissed him again in apology -- gently, softly.

"I might not either," he admitted, smiling against Sicheng's teeth. "But we'll have to, and in the meantime, maybe the God of Dreaming will let us meet each other in their realm."

"I'll see to it," Sicheng said.

.

The realm of dreams was not a place Sicheng liked to frequent. Oh, he dreamed, but rarely did he seek out the god who held power over the realm for help or advice. The dead didn’t dream, so dreams had no place in Sicheng’s world of shadows. 

“Sicheng,” Hyungwon purred when they saw who was waiting for them in their receiving room. The god had a series of rooms in the Palace that overlooked the Moon Gardens to the West. They were a god without a tangible home outside of these walls, since dreaming was not something you could touch. Sicheng always wondered about that, if Hyungwon felt small or confined, but, he reasoned, when the world was asleep, Hyungwon reigned in the minds of everyone, and thus their kingdom was vast. “Sicheng, what brings you to me, my little cloud?”

Hyungwon’s lithe form drifted over to Sicheng from the entrance to their rooms. They were draped in long silk lavender robes, butterflies flashing their wings in the fabric. Hyungwon’s hair was pulled back into a loose rope at the base of their neck, tendrils of hair framing their face. They looked at Sicheng with half-hooded eyes as they laid down in the chaise across from where Sicheng was sitting in another. All of Hyungwon’s furniture was low to the ground, cushioned, and long to accommodate slumber. They preferred mother-of-pearl accents in the dark cherry wood, and fabrics of varying shades of lilac. Hyungwon propped themself up onto their elbow, lounging easily and facing Sicheng. Their robe slipped down and off their shoulder, exposing sharp collarbones.

“Little cloud?” Sicheng raised an eyebrow at the nickname.

Hyungwon waved their hand and clucked their tongue. “That time you walked among humans, and they named you Yun. I liked that name. It suits your sad, frowning little face.”

“I don’t have a sad, frowning little face,” Sicheng snapped.

“You’re not the one looking at it right now, are you?”

Sicheng huffed out an annoyed breath and tried to push past the initial spark of aggravation to get to why he had come in the first place. “How are you?” he asked, pleasantly but through gritted teeth.

“Oh, you know,” Hyungwon said. “Tired, mostly.”

“I’ve heard you sleep for weeks at a time.”

“And it’s an off-week, currently; therefore, I’m very tired,” Hyunwon said. “So whatever you’ve come to say, say it quick.”

“I’ve met someone,” Sicheng said. He felt his cheeks heat at the way Hyungwon stared at him. The image of Ten's flushed face, his lips parted as Sicheng touched him where no one else has touched him before, flashed before his eyes. He wanted him so badly he thought perhaps this was the first time he'd experienced true yearning. Ten sparked a fire within him that Sicheng thought had long been extinguished.

“And?” Hyungwon asked. “You want to meet them in your dreams?”

“How did you know?”

“Many ask for this. Pray for this. You aren’t the first.”

“Then can you help me?”

Hyungwon smiled slowly. They sat up and readjusted their robes to cover their chest. A butterfly in their robes peeled away from the fabric and became a real, living thing. It fluttered above Hyungwon’s shoulder before resting there, perched, its wings in the shape of a V. “Not for free,” Hyungwon said.

Sicheng leaned forward in the chaise, elbows on top of this thighs. He’d anticipated this. "Of course. What payment do you require?"

The grin upon Hyungwon's lips deepened. He reminded Sicheng of a mischievous but lazy cat. "A favor of my choosing, that I can call upon you in the future."

"That's a rather large payment."

"Walking through dreams that aren't your own is a dangerous activity, and I won't allow just anyone to do it."

"But you'll allow me?" Sicheng asked. 

Hyungwon's eyes narrowed at him and they said, in a thousand different voices at once, "I've seen your dreams and your nightmares. It's not power you seek, and that makes me curious about you. You're interesting."

Sicheng tightened his fists against his thighs. He would not allow the irritation at the idea that Hyungwon had intruded into his innermost thoughts to show on his face, though he knew Hyungwon noticed, as their eyes flicked down to Sicheng's lap and back up again. Sicheng knew Hyungwon walked freely through dreams, knew that sometimes they planted the seeds of an idea deep into a person's subconscious and sat back to see if the seed would take root. They were a powerful god, and often underestimated; however, Hyungwon was lazy. As they confirmed themself, they slept for weeks at a time and were tired even upon waking. Hyungwon's curiosity and interest in him felt like a dangerous thing, but Sicheng had made a promise. "A favor, then, but within reason."

"Don't worry." Hyungwon smirked. "I won't ask you to raise armies of the dead on my behalf."

Sicheng flinched. The comment was like a needle poking under the beds of his fingernails. He thought about all the souls they had lost in the war, souls that would never be reincarnated. "Fine," he said stiffly.

Hyungwon smiled. They raised their hand with their index finger extended, and the butterfly on their shoulder flew to land delicately on their fingertip. With a quick movement, Hyungwon crushed it into their palm. When they opened their hand again, dust coated their palm, staining it a deep, shimmering purple. "Take this in your drink before sleep," Hyungwon said. "I’ll give you enough for two nights, but be careful where you Walk. Dreamers see more than you think, and the subconscious mind manifests in the conscious in very strange ways."

Sicheng looked at the dust coating Hyungwon's palm dubiously. "How will I take it with me?"

"It's already in your hand." Hyungwon nodded down to Sicheng's lap, and Sicheng cursed when he saw the tiny vial of dark purple dust in between his fingers.

"You--"

"Time to wake up, little cloud," Hyungwon suggested. They snapped their fingers. Sicheng awoke in his own bed in the Underworld, the curtains drawn. The vial was still in his hand.

.

All throughout the next day, Sicheng couldn’t unsee the shock of fear on Ten’s face at the mention of his father. It came to him in the most mundane of moments (as he was rearranging his scrolls in the shelves by his bed) as well as the most inconvenient (as he was sentencing the soul of a man who had cheated on his wife and murdered his own brother in life to eternity in Hell) -- Ten's eyes, shining and glassy and wide, his cheeks drawn of color, a shadow passing over his face. Ten reminded Sicheng of an animal caught in a trap, and Sicheng's slow-beating heart thumped faster at the thought of being the one to free him. 

Hours passed in the shadowed hall where Sicheng greeted the souls of the recently departed, the only evidence they’d ever been alive in the sparks that were their eyes. He found himself slumping lower and lower into his throne made of pure white jade as the souls began to thin in the Hall of Judgment, and he thought more about Ten.

Distracted as he was, he almost mistakenly sentenced the soul of an innocent little girl to eternal damnation, and only caught himself when Jaemin cleared his throat beside him. Sicheng swiftly directed the soul to the Elysian Fields instead.

Sicheng held out his palm to stay the next soul waiting for sentencing, and turned to his friend. "When did you get here?" 

"Around midday. Didn't you notice? Gods, I've been standing here for hours."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"You were deep into sentencing. I don't think I've ever seen you so ruthless in your judgment. Did the man who stole fruit to feed his family once really deserve thirty licks by the Firey Hounds of Hell?"

"Can't have him stealing fruit in the Fields," Sicheng mumbled.

"There's literally no fruit in the afterlife," Jaemin said. "Souls do not eat."

"Have you just come back to bother me? Where have you been?"

"No, I've come to keep you company. And to remind you to eat." Jaemin smiled at him, and his teeth were sharp as razors. Sicheng could just make out the glimmer of his nine-tails behind him. They shimmered in the strange, silver light that pervaded the shadowed hall and reminded Sicheng of the vial of purple dust Hyungwon had left him.

Sicheng glanced at the long line of souls stretching out across the hall and disappearing into the vacuum between his world and the World of the Living. There were always going to be souls waiting to learn of their place in eternity. The line never really shrank, but sometimes, like during wartime or famine, the groaning and begging of the souls rose in volume. Right now, it was relatively quiet. 

"Let's go, then," Sicheng announced, standing from his throne. He grasped at the shadows around them and let the darkness swallow them up. They re-emerged in one of Sicheng's rooms that was fashioned after the style of the most recent Ming Emperor. Tapestries hung from the walls, while the center of the room was mostly clear of furniture save for the low table near the head of the room, and the piles of embroidered cushions behind it. "My heart's not in it today, anyway."

"Where is your heart, I wonder?" Jaemin teased. When he giggled, it echoed around the hall. 

It made Sicheng's hair stand on end. He grabbed Jaemin by the sleeve and pulled him close in a frantic gesture. "What's that supposed to mean?" he hissed in Jaemin's face.

Jaemin only held up his hands sheepishly and continued to grin. "Nothing at all. You don't have to worry. My lips are sealed. I won't tell anyone about what I saw at the Reflection Pool."

Sicheng's heart plummeted to the floor through his stomach. If Jaemin saw, who else saw? Then, as though he could read his mind -- and maybe he could -- Jaemin shrugged, putting his hands over Sicheng's tangled in his sleeve, and said, "No one else knows. I swear it. I am connected to you; that is how I know."

Sicheng forced his fingers to release Jaemin's sleeve. He was right. They were connected, in a way. It was why Jaemin could survive in Sicheng’s realm when no other living thing could. The fox-spirit had only become celestial through the blessing of Sicheng himself, so now Jaemin was tied to him. Sometimes, they could see through each other's eyes; Sicheng didn’t know why or how to control it. Though he was a god, some parts of the realm of the mystical still eluded Sicheng’s understanding. Xuxi and Dejun were similar -- Sicheng could not be sure how their connection manifested, if it was different or the same.

"Were you there, at the Reflection Pool?"

Jaemin shook his head, and Sicheng exhaled slowly. That was fine, then. No one had followed them in the middle of the night. Normally, Sicheng wouldn't have cared who knew about his affairs and dalliances, but it seemed important to Ten that they kept their meeting a secret, for now.

Sicheng sat behind the low table near the front of the room. Immediately, a servant emerged and silently put down a tray holding a steaming teapot and two tiny ceramic mugs on top of it. Another servant emerged with another tray, this one lined with rows of bite-sized pastries. Sicheng nodded to them both as they bowed and shuffled away, never turning their backs on him. They waited at the edges of the room, fading in and out of sight as the shadows danced on the walls.

The fox plopped down next to Sicheng and curled his long body up like he was a cat after all, and without asking, laid his head on Sicheng's thigh. Sicheng's fingers gravitated naturally to Jaemin's hair, scratching blunt nails against his scalp. The god thought of Ten and how it would feel to have him in his lap like this, soft and warm and malleable, purring under his touch.

"He is like nothing I've ever seen, Jaemin," Sicheng said in a hushed whisper.

"Who is?"

"Ten."

Jaemin shifted so that he could leer at Sicheng with skepticism clear on his face. "What's he the god of again?"

"Spring," Sicheng said. "His father is Taemin."

"Oh,  _ that  _ Ten," Jaemin said, yawning right after as Sicheng continued to pet his hair.

"What do you mean? What Ten? What do you know?"

"Probably not much more than you," Jaemin said lightly. "Taemin's kept a tight leash on him, hasn't he? You know what they put in leashes?"

"Unfortunate animals," Sicheng grunted.

Jaemin clicked his tongue. "Wild things."

Sicheng tightened his fist in Jaemin's hair, and Jaemin quieted. "Enough. You didn't answer me before -- where have you been?"

"Did you miss me?" When Jaemin smiled, Sicheng saw the face of his fox, buried under his skin.

"The celebration was boring without you."

"You seemed to find your own fun, though, didn't you."

"The way you keep trying to distract me and not answer my question makes me think you've been up to no good," Sicheng stated bluntly.

Jaemin chuckled. "Maybe." Long seconds passed where Sicheng stared down at him, unimpressed, and finally Jaemin felt moved enough to answer. "Fine. If you have to know, I was with a human."

"Whatever for?" Sicheng tried to keep the disgust out of his voice. It wasn't that he hated humans; they were simply beneath him, and he judged their lives and sentenced their souls with all the callousness that distance afforded him. There was really no reason for a god to interact with a human except to fuck them, or to receive their offerings, and Sicheng didn't find any joy or excitement in bedding such lame creatures.

Jaemin sat up, and Sicheng's fingers fell away from his scalp. "Some of them are all right, you know," he said defensively.

"Like the one you were with?"

"Yes," Jaemin said. He crossed his legs and arms and sat like that, sulking. "He's sweet."

"Are you planning to eat his heart?" Sicheng gasped. "Have you  _ already _ eaten his heart? I thought you didn't really have to do that anymore, now that you've ascended."

"I'm not going to eat his heart!" Jaemin said hotly.

Sicheng raised a brow. "You're not?"

Jaemin stuttered and visibly backtracked, hugging his arms tighter across his chest. "At least, not yet. I don't know. I haven't decided yet. Anyway, I don't need to eat human hearts anymore. It's just the taste I miss, sometimes."

"You shouldn't play with your food," Sicheng teased, smirking.

Jaemin made a strangled noise of frustration and swept his hand over the treats on the table. He shoveled half of them into his mouth in one go, and busied himself with chewing while glaring angrily at Sicheng, who laughed at him. Jaemin was rarely flustered, and it was refreshing to see him so.

"Don't grow too attached," Sicheng offered in sympathy. "Humans live short, insignificant lives."

Jaemin chewed faster and swallowed audibly. "Maybe one of the gods will take a liking to him," Jaemin said hopefully, eyes shining. "Make him a war hero. He'll live forever, then."

"Maybe," Sicheng said. He thought of Ten, again, living for centuries in the cage that was Taemin's island. Though he slipped through the bars from time to time, the figurative shackles around his ankles never loosened. What must it be like, living like that, unable to be truly free for half a millennia? Sicheng had thought his own realm to be suffocating at times, but could move as he wanted, go where he pleased. Not many dared to cross the God of Death and Shadows.

He picked up one of the tiny glasses of tea and sipped, and it barely made a sound as he placed it back onto the tray. "What do you know of Taemin, God of the Harvest?" Sicheng asked Jaemin.

Jaemin slurped at his own tea, licking his lips after. "I heard he and Minho were lovers," he said.

This did not surprise Sicheng at all. There were few gods who hadn't lain with each other, one way or another. However, it did tend to get complicated when feelings were involved. "Were?"

"Oh yes. Had a huge falling out about five hundred years ago. The Earth was scorched for a hundred years. You don't remember this?"

He did, now that Jaemin mentioned it, but at the time, Sicheng had been preoccupied with a soul of a man who had fallen in battle, who had come to him with a plea -- to allow him to wait in limbo until his lover was finished with his time above, so they may spend eternity together. In the meantime, he would serve Sicheng. Others had made similar pleas, but Sicheng never entertained them. There was something intriguing about this man, though. Sicheng could tell he'd been blessed by the stars and, never one to offend the stars, Sicheng had taken the offer. He called himself Kun.

"I had other things that needed my attention," Sicheng said, clipped. "But I remember."

"Shortly after, Taemin exiled himself to the islands. And Minho was very huffy for a very long time."

"Ten was born on the islands," Sicheng realized. "It's all he's ever known."

"Not true. Clearly, he gets around." Jaemin raised a manicured eyebrow at the god. "You met him at the celebration, did you not?"

Sicheng grinned at the memory -- seeing Ten across the hall, the hushed exchange and heat rolling off their bodies, the peony blossom he'd left Sicheng as a token. He wanted so badly to know what Ten's skin felt like under the silks, if he bruised as easily as the blossom's petals crushed under the collar of his  _ hanfu _ . Then his thoughts turned to Ten's abrupt departure. Why did he feel the need to go back, if he tasted freedom for a little while? What did Taemin hold over him?

"If you could get away for a little while from an eternal prison, wouldn't you take that chance?"

"Have you asked the souls you sentence to eternal torment this question?"

"No," Sicheng scoffed. "Why should I?"

Jaemin looked like he wanted to press the matter further, but let it drop with a sigh. He leaned back onto his hands, the silk across his lap stretching and straining. "I wouldn't really call those islands a prison. They're very beautiful."

"You've been?"

"Once or twice," Jaemin said with a gleam in his eye like diamonds. "The sirens there are quite friendly."

He wanted Sicheng to ask about the sirens, Sicheng could tell, but the god only grunted, uninterested for now. However, he filed the detail away for exploration later. For a moment, Sicheng wondered if Ten had bewitched him. It felt as though Ten had pulled a shroud over his head so that Ten was all Sicheng could see or think about, but Sicheng found he relished this singular focus.

"That means there is a way in, after all," he said quietly. He lifted his hand in an elegant swipe and the servants peeled themselves away from the wall to clear the food and tea and tray table. "Everyone says there isn't."

Jaemin pouted as everything went, as this clearly signaled the end of the conversation. "What are you intending? To storm into that place and whisk him away?"

Sicheng nodded, thinking of how perfectly Ten's tight little body fit against his by the Reflection Pool. "Perhaps."

"You've known him a day and a half," Jaemin pointed out.

"Wars have been started in a shorter amount of time."

"Do you mean to go back to war?" Jaemin snapped. It sounded like a bark, like the harsh yap of a fox, and Sicheng looked at him sharply, but the fox didn't back down. "The ichor and blood of the gods and monsters and humans who fought are still drying on the battlefields!"

"I know!" Sicheng bit back, eyes flashing in warning. Jaemin whined, and Sicheng softened his tone, apologetic and embarrassed by his sudden display of emotion. He wasn't one to lose his temper like that so easily. "Believe me, I know. I don't want to fight anymore, but I am drawn to him, Jaemin. Like nothing I've ever felt before."

Hesitantly, maybe with a little suspicion, Jaemin nodded. "Just be careful, Sicheng. You are someone important to me, and I don't say that lightly."

.

That night, Sicheng dreamt of the battlefield, how it ran slick with blood, how rivers of thick, godly ichor shimmered under a waning moon. He was standing in a pile of the dead, knee deep and continuing to rise. The souls of the fallen swarmed above him, their empty mouths gaping and black, their howls piercing his eardrums. He scuttled through the mess of limbs and torsos and waded through bodies like they were water, searching for something he did not yet know.

Over and over, he turned the bodies and looked into their faces. Their eyes were as empty as the mouths of the souls circling above him like vultures. An unfamiliar emotion swelled up inside of him: fear.

Fear of what? He was the God of Shadows, and of Death. What had Sicheng to fear?

But he turned another body over, and his heart plummeted to his feet. Ten.

The howling stopped. Sicheng stood there in the dead, still, silent battlefield and looked into the eyes of the God of Spring and watched as the light faded behind those irises. His chest ached as the fear poisoned his marrow and became a part of him. And then, he remembered:

“This is a dream.”

He said it aloud, again, and his voice echoed. “This is a dream.” He had taken the dust Hyungwon had given him, coated his tongue with it, and he could still faintly taste the bitter, iron-like flavor. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and when he exhaled, he knew he was in control. The battlefield was empty when he opened his eyes. “Tonight, I walk through this realm as though it were my own.”

It was so.

He took a step and entered someone else’s dream.

.

It took a while for Sicheng to find what he was looking for. Walking through the Realm of Dreams was not the same as walking through the Palace of the Sun and Moon. There were no clear pathways laid with jade and stone, no golden arches to pass through or under. Dreams wound around and within each other in a twisted tapestry that Sicheng suspected only Hyungwon knew the pattern for, but after skipping through a few dreams, Sicheng thought he got the hang of it enough to at least make progress in the right direction.

The connections between the dreams of the gods were often illogical, and this was how Sicheng jumped from dream to dream -- a dove-tailed swallow led him to a river, which led him to a gorge, which led him to a celebration inside a festival. He kept Ten in mind and hoped this awareness of him would bring him closer and closer. 

Red clay under his feet turned into soil, into smooth stone, into loose sand. Each step brought him into another world, another reality. 

Finally, he reached the Koh Yao islands of Taemin's dreams. Sicheng could tell it was a dream because the sky was red as wine, and Taemin did not pay him any mind as he paced between the trees, though Sicheng stood at the edge of the jungle behind the beach in plain sight. He thought for a moment it would be best to hide, but then he realized that Taemin was rambling to himself, his gaze fixed to the ground, and that he was invisible to him.

Sicheng cast no shadow. The absence of it made him feel as though he’d been thrown into a never-ending pit. Off-balance and uncertain, he strained to hear what Taemin was chanting. The words did not make any sense, but seemed to be an ancient spell that, even hearing it in the periphery, made Sicheng's bones want to twist inside of his body. 

He had seen enough.

Sicheng took another step, and thought of Ten, and the sky flipped over and became water, and the air that escaped from his mouth as a shocked, silent gasp left his lips traveled up to the surface and broke through into the light. He kicked his feet hard and struggled to move his body through the water; he wasn't like Xuxi, who could skim through the ocean with the ease of a scalpel through skin, but he knew the basics of swimming, even if he wasn't graceful at it. 

After much too long for Sicheng's liking, he finally came to the surface and sucked in a lungful of air, sputtering, and found himself in the middle of a pool. Behind him, a waterfall roared, and all around him was lush, green jungle. Vines twisted between the trees and colorful flowers as large as Sicheng's face dotted the forest canopy. Curtains of tiny white flowers on thin green tendrils draped between trees where sunlight filtered through the trunks. Over the drumming of the waterfall, Sicheng could hear the animals of the jungle calling to each other. He swam to the edge of the pool and heaved himself out of the water, his  _ hanfu  _ drenched and hanging heavily from his body. 

As he twisted the material of his clothes in an effort to wring himself dry, he realized the animals weren't calling to each other anymore. Even the drumming of the waterfall seemed muted and far, far away. Before him, the forest parted, and Ten emerged from behind a curtain of violets, stunning in a lilac robe and nothing else, his bare feet brown with dirt. There were twigs in his hair, which fell loose and wild around his shoulders, unrestrained, and flowers again, like garlands. His fingertips were stained blue and purple as though he'd dipped them into pots of ink.

"Sicheng?" Ten asked. "What are you doing here?"

Sicheng straightened, his clothes still pulling everything down with the weight of the water drenching them, but he noticed how Ten's eyes trailed over his chest and legs, their outlines clear as his clothes clung to his skin, and decided he didn't mind being completely soaked after all. 

"You asked me to come," Sicheng said gently, taking a step forward, but Ten skirted back, wary, his eyes darting to the side and back as though watching for an ambush from the trees. Though every part of Sicheng wanted to rush forward to crush Ten against his body, he paused, and took a deep breath. "Remember? The night at the Reflection Pool. You wondered if the God of Dreams would let us meet. I don't like to leave things up to chance."

"You spoke to the God of Dreams?"

"I did."

"What did you have to give him, in return for this?"

Sicheng sighed. He had no doubt he'd regret promising Hyungwon such a huge, open-ended favor, but at the moment he could not help but think it was worth it. Anything was worth it, for Ten. "Nothing that you must worry about, love," he murmured.

Ten's gaze softened as he smiled. The roar of the waterfall returned, as did the chirping and cooing of the invisible birds that lived in Ten's dreamed-up jungle. The rush of sound returning was so abrupt that Sicheng almost didn't hear him say, "Is it really you? Or have I dreamed you up inside of my head?"

Sicheng returned his smile. He unfixed his feet from the earth and closed the distance between them, and they met in the center with their mouths on each other, a hunger in Sicheng's stomach that could not be sated by food. He craved Ten, all of him. "It's really me," Sicheng promised. 

"Kiss me," Ten demanded.

Whatever Ten desired, Sicheng would give to him. And if he did not already have it in his possession, Sicheng would tear the realms apart to find it. A kiss was but a small token, something Sicheng could give Ten easily and readily, and so he did, kissing Ten until his mouth was as blood-red as a rose. In dreams, the sweetness of his lips was amplified -- he tasted purely of honey and nectar -- and Sicheng wanted to suck him dry. He pulled Ten closer, tighter against his body and ground his hips against Ten's stomach, and found with delight that Ten was half-hard under his robes. "Pretty little thing," he whispered against Ten's collarbone, before biting into the meat of Ten's shoulder.

Ten's knees buckled as he cried out. He threw his arms around Sicheng's neck. "Please," he begged. "I want--" 

"Tell me what you want."

"I want to know what it feels like."

"What, love? You've got to be more specific than that." As they spoke, Sicheng walked them to a thick tree trunk and pressed Ten up against it. 

Ten was a splash of purple against the mottled wood, his face pink and his eyes glittering. "Your mouth, your hands," he whispered, tucking his chin to his chest as his cheeks burned. "On me, down there."

Sicheng throbbed under his wet, heavy clothes. He ached with want, and it left him as breathless as though someone had punched him directly in the solar plexus. He sank to his knees in the wet earth underneath their feet and looked up at Ten and his crown of twigs and flowers and slowly, carefully parted the fabric of his robes at his hips.

Ten watched him the whole time with lowered lids. His breath mixed with gasps of pleasure and high, keening whimpers that spurred Sicheng on with his mouth. Even here, Ten tasted sweet, and when he shook against Sicheng with a broken moan Sicheng greedily swallowed him down to the very last drop.

.

The covers were all twisted around his body when Sicheng awoke, the dark pressing in around him from all sides. With a twinge of embarrassment, he realized he was still stiff and wet from his dream-walking experience, and decided to indulge himself this morning. He could have called any spirit or nymph over to nuzzle between his thighs but he only wanted Ten, and if he couldn’t have Ten then his own hand would have to do.

The image of Ten in the throes of ecstasy, head thrown back against the rough bark of the tree, the vulnerable line of his throat exposed, tipped Sicheng over the edge, and after, he lay there panting in his own mess, wondering how Ten was faring this morning.

Was he thinking of Sicheng? Was he touching himself, exploring himself the way Sicheng had explored him in his dream? Sicheng groaned and turned his face into his pillow, blushing as he twitched again with desire. 

Ten was just so cute.

For most of the day, Sicheng sat on his white jade throne and damned souls to their fates. At times, his mind wandered to the other gods and what they were doing, now that the war was over. Had Minho found another temple maiden to chase after? Had Seulgi chosen her newest champion? Often, Sicheng wouldn’t hear of things until after the humans were dead -- their souls told him the stories, and most of the time, Sicheng felt sorry for them in a very detached sort of way. To be favored by the gods was a terrible burden.

He thought about when he would see Ten next; he still had another dose of the powder Hyungwon had given him, leaving him one more night to walk through dreams. Then, in just another night, they’d meet again at the Reflection Pool.

At least, that was the plan.

Jaemin slunk into the shadowed Hall of Judgment, keeping to the edges, but his white  _ hanfu  _ caught the light and drew attention. He was not an unfamiliar figure to be seen in the Hall, so Sicheng didn’t think much of it until he came closer and Sicheng could see the slightly stunned, stricken expression on his face.

The god sat up higher on his throne, instantly alert. “What is it?”

“It’s Yangyang,” Jaemin said. “He wants to see you. He says it is urgent.”

What could be so urgent? Sicheng wondered. Another war? Or did Minho stick his rod somewhere it didn't belong again and need the help of those more level-headed to clean up his mess.

"He says it's about Ten," Jaemin said, snapping Sicheng out of his thoughts.

Sicheng stood abruptly and a hush fell over the Hall. The souls waited, still and silent, as Sicheng nodded tersely and swept his hand out in an arc before him, gathering the shadows into his fist and bending the reality of his realm. 

"Hold the line," he told Jaemin, before the world crumpled like paper. He stepped quickly into the mess of shadows and matter he'd created and pushed at the phantoms that wanted to be reformed when he stepped back out again. It only took a millisecond for him to reemerge in his guest hall, a space between his realm and the realms above. Neutral ground where living things could still exist. The whole room was like a cavern, emitting a sickly green glow from the light green jade that covered the floors and walls.

Yangyang paced in the center, agitated, the tiny wings at the heels of his sandals blurry with motion.

“What’s happened to Ten?” Sicheng strode forward in a maelstrom of shadows, the darkness crackling with energy around him. Yangyang yelped like a puppy when he noticed Sicheng and how close he was.

“You!” Yangyang pointed his finger at him, stiff and accusatory. “What have you done?”

“What’s happened to Ten?” Sicheng asked again, anger and panic rising within him like a cloud. He surged forward and the shadows reached toward Yangyang like claws. The Messenger God’s eyes flashed silver in warning, liquid mercury. Sicheng forcefully reigned himself in, and the darkness disappeared like it had been swallowed up. “Yangyang,” he said, calmer now though his power still itched at the tips of his fingers. “Please.”

Yangyang exhaled through his teeth, his eyes steely as they took Sicheng in. “I cannot reach him,” Yangyang said finally. “The way is shut.”

“What do you mean, the way is shut?”

“I mean I tried to see him, on the islands, but there is no longer a way in for me. My pathways have been sealed. Do you know what it takes to seal  _ my  _ pathways?”

“I assume it takes a great deal,” Sicheng said drily.

“It does,” Yangyang said. He jabbed his finger into Sicheng’s chest like it was a dagger. “We have been careful for so long, and now you meet him and you are reckless, you’ve put him in danger.”

“Danger?” Sicheng growled. “He’s been a captive all his life, and you’re complicit in his captivity, giving him a peek between the bars but never actually striking at the chains that bind him to that place.”

“To his father,” Yangyang hissed.

“Worse,” Sicheng continued. “You think you’re doing him a favor.”

“I’m his  _ friend _ ,” Yangyang said. “Who are  _ you _ ?”

Sicheng stilled. The air froze around them both, and Sicheng’s stomach plummeted to his feet. He did not know what he was to Ten.  _ Lover  _ was not quite right, and they certainly were not friends. In the ensuring silence, Yangyang’s boiled-over anger lessened to a simmer, and he said, “I only came to tell you I think he is in danger. I think his father knows...that something happened between you two. He’s always been protective. He will isolate him further.”

This time it was Sicheng’s heart that fell. “You think he knows about us?”

“I am almost certain of it,” Yangyang said. “You are the only variable that has been introduced in centuries.”

“Then I have to fix it,” Sicheng said.

“How?”

Sicheng had known, from the first time he laid eyes on Ten, mesmerized by his wild but innocent energy, his golden skin, his perfect pout of a mouth, that he would go to great lengths to ensure his happiness. Like a fisherman netting a shark and being dragged through the sea, he would not let go. The treasure was too rare, and precious. He thought that now he understood how sailors felt when they were under the spell of a siren song.

And then, he thought of the sirens.

“I will go to him,” Sicheng said. “I will get him out.”

.

That night, Sicheng did not linger in other dreams, but pushed through the sticky webs of others' subconscious realms quickly, with intent. Like the night before, when he reached Ten he found himself tumbling under water, and kicked toward the surface. He emerged into a jungle devoid of sound.

Sopping wet, he climbed out onto the forest floor, his hands coated in mud. Everything was quiet, like a moment frozen in time. Even the waterfall behind him was silent, though the water churned. This was not right.

"Ten?" Sicheng called out. He tried to recall how they had met last night, but it had seemed Ten could sense his presence, and came to him. He waited for the forest to part in front of him, but there was nothing. "Ten?"

Sicheng walked toward the curtain of tiny purple flowers that had once obscured Ten from view. Perhaps he was hiding there, still. Perhaps he was asleep in his own dream realm. Perhaps Sicheng had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and this was not Ten's dream at all.

Perhaps this was a nightmare.

He cut his hand through the curtain of vines and indigo and purple blossoms fell to his feet. Beyond the curtain was just more forest. No Ten. He spun on his heel, his heart starting to beat frantically as he searched for the little God of Spring. The jungle was so quiet that it seemed to swallow noise, so quiet that Sicheng started to imagine he could at least hear the drumming of the waterfall.

Ten had mentioned he would lie to his father about hiding there, behind the waterfalls of their islands. Sicheng ran along the edge of the lake toward the tower of water, and ducked into the small cave he found behind it. The rocks here were damp and slick, sharp enough to cut the bottoms of his feet. "Ten!" he called out again, but it was only his own voice that echoed back at him.

Starting again to wonder if Ten was here in his own dream at all, Sicheng turned back to the wall of water and nearly screamed in surprise at the ghostly figure that swayed in front of him.

"Ten," he whispered, hurrying to him.

Ten fell against the cavern walls. He was soaked, his jade green  _ hanfu  _ clung to him like a second skin, his hair matted and covering half of his face. Sicheng brought him into his arms and immediately noticed how chilled the god was. His skin was like ice, and he was trembling.

"Sicheng?" Ten's voice was soft as a feather. He looked up at Sicheng through his hair, his eyes grey and clouded over. Sicheng gasped, holding him closer and rubbing his hands over Ten's back to encourage warmth and circulation back into his body.

"What happened?" Sicheng asked.

Ten's eyes rolled back into his head but Sicheng shook him gently, coaxing him back to consciousness.

"Is this real?" Ten asked.

"I'm here," Sicheng said. "It's real."

"But I am dreaming," Ten said. He sounded very far away. Sicheng propped Ten up against his own body. He cupped his face into his hands, brushing tendrils of hair from his face, and made him look at him. He kissed him full on the mouth, and Ten shook.

"It is a dream," Sicheng confirmed. "But I'm still here with you."

"I'm afraid," Ten said, mouth slack. "I'm cold. I'm numb. This doesn't feel like a dream."

"What happened? What did he do to you?"

"He?" Ten's eyes flashed with color for the first time.

Sicheng held onto that gleam, tried to draw it out. "Your father."

"Oh," Ten said. His eyes welled with tears, and he started to cry quietly. "He'll be so upset with me." Even as he cried, his body sagged. He was fighting to remain awake, fighting to stay here with Sicheng.

"Did he find out about us?" Sicheng asked. Ten nodded, and what was left of Sicheng's heart shattered in his chest. Whatever this was, whatever had happened to Ten, it was his fault after all. But he needed to find out he'd done to Ten, the Ten outside of this dream. "What did he do, after he found out?"

Ten shuddered and gasped in Sicheng's hold, mumbling words to himself that Sicheng didn't understand.

Sicheng kissed him gently on the forehead. His skin was warming, but very, very slowly. "Please, Ten. Tell me."

"Nightshade," Ten whispered. "Belladona.  _ Dianqie _ ." He looked up at Sicheng again, his gaze suddenly sharp. He repeated the words, each syllable more urgent than the last. "Nightshade. Belladona.  _ Dianqie _ ."

Poison, Sicheng realized as Ten chanted. It would not be enough to kill a god, but even gods were not entirely immune to the deadly poisons of the world. If Ten had been poisoned, it would explain the strange stillness of his subconscious -- he wasn't really asleep, or dreaming. He was trapped, pulled under by force.

Anger expanded like fire in his chest. Not only did Taemin keep Ten confined to his islands, but now he'd even trapped him inside his own mind. He kissed Ten, whose chanting had quieted to whispers that sounded like whimpers, again on the forehead. "I'm coming to get you out," Sicheng promised. "But you must meet me in the shallows where the sirens bathe. It's the only way."

Ten whined, closing his eyes in frustration. "Poison," he kept whispering, wincing like each word pained him. "Poison, poison, poison."

"Tell me that you understand," Sicheng said with his hands gently framing Ten's face. "You must understand. Meet me tomorrow night when the moon is at its highest, in the shallows where the sirens bathe. Tell me that you understand."

Ten stared at him, breathing as harshly as though he'd just sprinted through the woods on a hunt, and then he darted forward and kissed Sicheng on the lips. "Tomorrow night," he repeated. "When the moon is at its highest. The shallows where the sirens bathe."

And then his eyes lost the light, and he crumpled into a heap at Sicheng's feet.

.

It was torture, waiting for Ten that night for three reasons mainly: the first being that Sicheng could not be certain that Ten understood his message nor if he could even act on it; the second being that Sicheng hated the feeling of being on the water, and he and Jaemin were floating in a small boat that could be hidden among the shoals where the sirens were sleeping on giant slabs of rock; and the third being that he was useless until Ten appeared.

He had tried to twist the shadows to his will but, just like before, it was like there was an invisible wall around the island that made it an impenetrable fortress. But Jaemin had insisted there was still a way out -- the innate magic of the sirens that gathered here somewhere interfered with Taemin's barrier, allowing the creatures to come and go freely. He was certain Ten would be able to cross it.

There was nothing they could do but wait.

The waves rocked against the boat and Sicheng's belly rose and fell with the motion. They sat under cover of night, the moon glowing faint and silver behind a wall of clouds.

"If he's been poisoned," Jaemin said, "will he be able to come?"

"He'll be here," Sicheng said. He wouldn't entertain any other outcome. He knew that once Ten made it to the shallows, they would have to act quickly to make it back to Sicheng's realm. Further, there was the fact that no living thing aside from Sicheng -- and Jaemin -- could cross into the underworld without paying a heavy price. Usually, it was a life, but then Sicheng had remembered Kun.

Kun's soul, trapped in limbo, started to forget the very man he was waiting for. So Sicheng had nudged the human with a dream and then he'd been standing before him, demanding entry, demanding to speak to Kun, to help him remember, to be with him. The man had eaten from Sicheng's table, just one bite of sweet pomegranate and he was granted entry into the underworld as he was. The only thing was that he could never leave again.

"There!" Jaemin said, pointing. Sicheng followed his finger and saw a flash of green against ribbons of black. Ten was sprinting toward them from the cliff side, his feet splashing in the water in the shallows.

One by one, the sirens awoke.

"Jaemin," Sicheng hissed, and Jaemin whistled low, the sound eerie and full.

The sirens all turned to them at once, their sharp teeth bared.

"Friends," Jaemin said. "Remember me?" They slipped their bodies into the water and slithered toward the boat like eels, all while Ten hiked up his robes and ran to them. He kept looking behind himself, the whites of his eyes glowing.

"Jaeminnie," one of the sirens crooned, her voice like spun sugar. "What mischief are you up to now?"

"We're leaving with Ten," Jaemin said. "Is Yuqi here?"

As one, the sirens gasped and tittered. Their eyes flashed yellow in the dark. "That little god?" one of them said. "Tennie, Ten, Ten. Poor Ten. Poor you. Are you sure?"

"We're sure," Sicheng said. A shadow rippled across the water and knocked the sirens back, and they hissed in displeasure but quickly realized who Sicheng was. "Let him through," he said.

"We will tell Xuxi," the sirens threatened. "We will tell him what you've done, and he will tell Minho, and Minho will tell Taemin."

"Tell him," Sicheng said. "He will have Death waiting for him."

One by one the sirens slunk back under the water and darted deeper into the ocean, presumably to share their message with Xuxi, but Sicheng did not care. He knew he could handle Xuxi, and Minho hated when he had to even come near Sicheng's realm, let alone cross into it. One of the sirens remained, and this one, Sicheng assumed, was Yuqi.

She was beautiful, her cheeks shimmering with incandescent scales. Her eyes were a strange violet color that reminded Sicheng so much of Ten. She floated in the water before their boat, flicking her long, ruby-toned tail against the hull. "They've such a hive mind," she said, grinning at Jaemin.

"Thank you for your help," Jaemin said, reaching out over the water to cup her cheek in his hand. She nipped at his palm playfully and Jaemin yelped, pulling away.

"I like annoying Xuxi," she said. "It's quite fun." Then she swam back to the rocks, and waved at Ten, who slowed as he neared, confused. He looked at Sicheng, and Sicheng nodded.

_ We can do it slowly, _ he saw Yuqi say, though they were far enough away that Sicheng couldn't hear them.  _ If you're scared. _

Ten was scared. Sicheng could see it in the way his eyes were still wide, his shoulders tight as he took Yuqi's hand that she had extended up towards him. Together, they walked along the rocks, toward the invisible barrier that stopped even the waves.

"That's it," Sicheng called out to Ten, holding his arms open. He was so close. He just had to cross the barrier.

When he reached it, he stopped. Yuqi lingered in the water, looking up at him.

"It doesn't hurt," she said. "Not like it will, later on."

With a breath, Ten nodded. He stepped past the wall of magic that Taemin had conjured around the island. Nothing happened. Not believing his luck, Ten laughed as Sicheng leaned out and gathered Ten into his arms, pulling him onto their little boat.

"This is real?" Ten asked, holding Sicheng so tightly across the chest that Sicheng couldn't breathe. He buried his face into Sicheng's neck and inhaled deeply.

"This is real," Sicheng said. He pulled the shadows around them like a cloak, kissing Ten as he cleaved a canyon into the earth and dragged them down to the Underworld.

.

As they traveled, the shadows tore at Ten's clothes, his hair, his skin. God or not, the underworld would break Ten down, molecule by molecule if Sicheng did not act quickly. Ten clutched at Sicheng's chest and choked on a scream.

"Jaemin!" Sicheng called, stretching his hand out. Jaemin tossed him a dark, plum-colored fruit, and Sicheng caught it easily. The flesh was soft and gave slightly between his fingers. He pressed it to Ten's lips. "Eat," he said. "Before the shadows rip you apart."

Ten opened his mouth. The fruit squelched between his teeth, dark juice as red and rich as human blood spurting from between his lips. He swallowed as the juice dribbled down his chin.

"Good," Sicheng uttered. Ten fell against him, limp and exhausted, but the shadows gave way and let him pass from his own world and into the next, and Sicheng bent to kiss the crown of his forehead. "You're safe now," he said.

Ten's fingers tightened their grip over Sicheng's arms. "From what?" he asked.

"From your father," Sicheng said.

Ten sagged against Sicheng's body, mumbling words Sicheng did not understand again, disquieted as they stepped out from the shadows and into the Hall of Judgment.

.

For a little while, it was quiet. Ten slept in fits and starts as the poison worked its way out of his bloodstream. Awake, he was half-delirious and somber, unable to separate dreams from reality. Asleep, he was still as a statue. Sicheng lay by his side and fed him water and nectar and waited for it to pass, not knowing how much Taemin had used. He wiped Ten's brow when it was damp with sweat, and kissed his forehead to soothe him, and held his fingers delicately when he slept, because the contact seemed to bring him peace.

On the third day, Ten opened his eyes and they shone golden and bright, lucid and clear. He smiled at Sicheng and shot forward to kiss him on the lips, a sweet giggle dropping from his mouth like honey. "It was real," he said aloud, pressing his body closer to Sicheng's on the bed. "I knew it."

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Sicheng asked. He ran his hand down the line of Ten's side. Even covered in layers of silk, he felt as sharp as a knife.

"No," Ten said, dropping his head to Sicheng's pillow. "Are you?"

"No," Sicheng whispered. Ten's hair was soft as rose petals against his fingers. Three days bedridden and fighting off poison, Ten still glowed with an untouchable beauty that shimmered like a halo around him. Sicheng was drawn to him like a moth to light. "I want you," he said.

Ten grinned. "You've taken me."

"Then I'll take you again." Sicheng rolled over him and bared his weight down against Ten's body. His knees pushed apart Ten's thighs as Ten squeaked in surprise and delight, the sound soft against his ears. He leaned down and nipped at Ten's throat, alternating bites and kisses, and Ten writhed under him, a mess even before they started.

"Gently," Ten ordered, gasped, with his back arched tight. "Gently, Sicheng."

It was one thing to dream it, and another thing entirely to feel Ten respond to his fingers, to his mouth. To feel him twitch against his tongue. Sicheng, impatient, ripped through their robes until they were both naked before each other, and set his mouth upon Ten's chest. He was unblemished as marble and just as smooth, and Sicheng sank his teeth into his yielding, willing flesh. The way he mewled and cried made something deeply carnal rise up inside of Sicheng, and he growled as he sucked bruises into Ten's skin.

The insides of Ten's thighs were soft and creamy and Sicheng parted them with a rough movement so that he could bury his face between Ten's legs. He was so tight, and Sicheng had to work him open slowly with his tongue and his fingers, until he was sopping with rose oil and spit and begging for something bigger than Sicheng's fingers.

"You're mine," Sicheng said as he pressed into Ten slowly, straining with the effort of not sliding in fast and hard the way he wanted. "No one else can have you but me."

"No one," Ten gasped, trembling with the promise as Sicheng started to move his hips. "No one else but you."

.

In the morning, Jaemin came to fetch Sicheng and told him that Taemin was waiting for him in the guest hall. Sicheng slipped out of bed and into his robes, not bothering to tie up his long hair or get properly dressed, and went to him, leaving Ten, who was as dead to the world as a corpse, behind in his bed. 

He met Taemin in the black silk robes he lounged in, his torso exposed down to his navel and displaying the marks Ten had left with his teeth on his chest for anyone to see. “What do you want?” he asked by way of greeting, and Taemin narrowed his eyes at him, staring at the marks with disgust. 

He looked awful. His eyes were rimmed with red, and the shadows under them were deep and gray. His hair, usually sleek and shiny, had lost its luster and was clumped with oil. “I will blacken the whole earth if you do not give him back,” he said, his voice crackling like dead leaves. “I will let nothing live.”

Sicheng pulled his robes closer around himself as though to ward off a chill, but he was unmoved. “I reign over the dead,” Sicheng said quietly. “You will be doing me a great service.”

Taemin screamed. He threw himself forward in a wild rage and struck out with his hands like claws but the shadows gathered around Sicheng and flung him back, trapped him against the jade walls. As he struggled, he spat with anger, chaotic energy roiling around him with nowhere to go with the shadows so close. His eyes flashed red. He wailed, “Give him back to me! You don’t know how to love him!”

Sicheng regarded him the way a person might regard a fly under their shoe. He was pathetic, and his threats meant nothing to a god like Sicheng. Perhaps Minho would have -- and did -- fold to Taemin’s demands because gods like Minho are slaves to the offerings laid at their temples and to the prayers leaving the lips of their followers, but Sicheng was Death and Death befell all things, and everyone prayed to him eventually, whether they meant to or not.

“I am the End of All Things,” he reminded Taemin, stepping closer to him against the wall, the shadows holding Taemin captive whipped across Sicheng’s own cheeks. “What I take cannot be given back.”

He thought of Ten, still in his bed, the way he trembled and cried out in pleasure, the way his hair fell across his shoulders as Sicheng took him from behind. His sweet, perfect little god. He smiled at Taemin and snapped his fingers, and the shadows threw him out.

.

In the days and weeks that followed, Ten explored the Underworld. He walked along the river where the souls gave the ferryman a golden coin in order to be ferried across into the after-life. He watched as Sicheng sentenced souls to eternity in the Elysian Fields or eternity in Hell. Sometimes, he sat on the arm of Sicheng’s throne like a nimble little bird and whispered in Sicheng’s ear what he thought:  _ she deserved the flames, he deserved all good things, they deserved this, or that. _ Twice, Sicheng took up Ten’s ideas on inventive tortures they could set upon two damned souls, and Sicheng loved the way Ten brightened at that.

He found that Ten was growing a garden in the courtyard in front of his library. What had been an empty, stone-filled space now glittered with black blooms and blossoms like an abundance of stars blinking in the curtain that was the night sky. It surprised Sicheng at first -- nothing was supposed to be able to grow in the Underworld, not like that -- but Ten was teeming with untapped power. Soon, the garden had overtaken parts of the library, the black vines wild and thick, crawling over shelves of scrolls and tables stacked with books. Sicheng didn’t mind; he never read anything more than once in the library, anyway.

They slept together almost every night, and some days, too. Time didn’t matter down here. Ten’s body was a temple for Sicheng to explore, to take apart and put back together again. He craved every inch of him constantly. 

Taemin came back eventually. Six months had passed, and whole generations of people were dying on earth, and the gods’ hold over humanity was weakening. Still, Minho had done nothing to confront Sicheng, and Minho was probably the only god who could make Sicheng do anything. Ten refused to see Taemin, and Sicheng could see how this crushed Ten’s father.

Later, he asked Ten as they lounged together in bed, “Why don’t you want to see your father? The look on his face, at least, when he realizes he’s lost you completely, might be very satisfying.”

Ten rolled over and straddled his thighs over Sicheng’s hips. “He makes me something I am not,” Ten said, hushed. “And I hate him.”

The gods implored Sicheng, one by one. Xuxi came with Dejun and told of how months without Taemin’s blessings have left the earth dry as a husk. Even the oceans felt how the earth starved. Seulgi came with her silver hair and tried to make Sicheng see logic, and when he would not see it, threatened war instead. Yixing, with his sunlight; Joohyun, with her weaponized beauty. But as the earth died and humanity abandoned their prayers, Sicheng’s realm filled and thrived.

It was not until Yangyang appeared before him in the jade green hall that Sicheng felt perhaps he was being selfish by keeping Ten with him in the Underworld.

“I miss him,” Yangyang said. “He will wither without the sun. Let him go.”

“I can’t,” Sicheng told him, sorrow tinging his words. “I can’t reverse it. I’m sorry. But know that he’s happy. With me, he’s happy.”

“Are you sure about that?” Yangyang asked. He didn’t wait for Sicheng to respond.

.

Jaemin shook him awake. “Come!” he whispered. His face was drawn and pale and his eyes were black, like all the light had been drained from behind them. “Come quickly!”

Sicheng rose and followed at Jaemin’s heels, disturbed at having been woken in such a way, confused by Jaemin’s urgency. What had happened now? Another god visiting to try to convince Sicheng to let Ten go? When would they understand that this was what Ten wanted? He quickly realized the direction they were headed in was toward the library, and then beyond that, Ten’s garden of strange dark flowers. He froze at the threshold of the garden as Jaemin pointed at the slim figure kneeling on the ground.

“Ten?”

Ten’s shoulders shook. A familiar sound like a howling wind rose up from the petals and whirled around them all, and Sicheng realized where he’d heard the noise before. “I wanted to help,” Ten said. “They were being so loud. I couldn’t sleep. I can never sleep.”

“What are you talking about?” Sicheng asked, approaching carefully, the cries of a thousand souls swirling in a cloud around them. Ten was holding something to his chest, cradled like a newborn. “What have you got there?”

“Quiet,” Ten said. It was a new bouquet of dark roses, their petals glittering in the ambient light of the garden. 

“Souls,” Jaemin accused.

Ten dropped the flowers as he stood, and Sicheng winced as the bouquet crumpled against the floor, as what made the blossoms glitter broke. The souls flickered like dying fireflies, once, twice, and then they were out. Gone forever. “Are you angry with me?” Ten asked, eyes wide.

Sicheng took in the whole of the garden. It was huge, expansive, and full of suffering. Hundreds of souls that would never get their chance at the eternity that waited for them. “No,” he said when Ten went to him and clutched at his shoulders, smelling of dried lavender and blackberries. He was not angry; he was horrified.

.

In the end, it was Sicheng who called Taemin to meet with him in the Palace of the Sun and Moon, with Minho as arbiter. 

“Do you see, now?” Taemin asked. “Why I kept him from the world?”

“I do,” Sicheng said. He remembered how enchanted he’d been by the gold in Ten’s eyes the first time he saw him, remembered the peony blossom that he crushed against his bosom, and wondered if that had been part of Ten’s spell. Perhaps now there was a seedling sprouting into a shoot inside of Sicheng’s chest that would grow into a vine to twist around his heart, and he would be Ten’s forever. Perhaps it was too late for him, whatever was coming next. 

“Now, Taemin, let us come to an agreement.”

.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone who cheered me on while writing this. special thanks to a and r who gave their time and attention to read this over and give feedback <3 super helpful and couldn't have finished this without you!
> 
> inspired by tenwin's [lovely choreo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ovHSQwp1n0)
> 
> comments and kudos greatly appreciated <3


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